


Open Door

by yfere



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb is a weirdo but Fjord is too, M/M, Spoilers e60 something, humming frozen to myself, more language shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 06:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19000336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yfere/pseuds/yfere
Summary: "I can help you with that, if you wish," Caleb said, about the locks. A follow up conversation.





	Open Door

**Author's Note:**

> Love is an...
> 
> This fic takes place, theoretically, between getting the map and casting the successful scrying spell on Blondie, so some spoilers for the 60s episodes.

It wasn’t _lurking_ , exactly, what Caleb was doing. It was a touch too nervous for that, Caleb leaning in the doorway and twisting his silver wire over and over again in his hands, playing what looked to be a game of cat’s cradle while Fjord tried to concentrate on memorizing their new map. The country was much smaller than he’d been led to believe—

Caleb’s coat rustled slightly and Fjord glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. By this point Caleb had threaded a complicated-looking pinwheel between his hands, and Fjord supposed it was a lost cause, hoping he’d vanish, go to sleep. The last thing he needed right now was another private conversation, he still hadn’t figured out how much time he had, how he’d say—

The pinwheel became a star. Caleb was more patient than he was, he knew this for a fact by now.

“How can I help you, Caleb?”

The star dissolved. A thick line of crisscrossing diamonds took its place. Caleb didn’t even look up. “Are you busy? I don’t want to interrupt you.”

Fjord pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m—I’m just about done. Am done. You need me?”

The silver wire vanished, too fast for Fjord to properly track, and Caleb gave him a long, strange look. “I want to show you something.”

Fjord nodded, and just like that Caleb spun on his heel and started heading for the stairs, leaving Fjord to scramble to his feet and after him.

  
It wasn’t so bad, following behind him instead of the other way for once. Caleb moved at a good clip, with an even, stiff-backed gait that reminded Fjord of the naval officers he’d run into, back then. _My father was a soldier_ , he’d said. And he was some kind of soldier too, if Fjord was right, from the pieces he’d been putting together. He wondered for a moment what that was like, if it resembled any of the stories of the men, the disaffected and weary ones who joined up with Vandren after a stint with the military. Probably not.

The library-lab was eerily quiet.There was something unsettling about the place, bare of books, the alchemical stand shining but clear, with no Nott or Yeza puttering around, making things that fizzled and popped and belched smoke. Caleb muttered an excuse and Fjord let him fall back to begin threading his alarm. He might have complained about the wait, the three layers of invisible wire in their own home, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew he’d do the same if he had the ability. He’d probably add a few more than three layers, even, for the door, the windows, the hallway…

He caught sight of something brightly colored in the corner, and found that the shelves weren’t completely bare after all. There was a small pile of books on the shelf farthest from the laboratory equipment, and the bright blue that caught his eye was the one with the ship on the cover, that he’d heard far more than he cared for read aloud. They’d never quite got to the end in the tunnels, though, and it was only idle curiosity, really, that had him flipping to the back—

“I’ve finished,” Caleb said by his ear, and Fjord startled, shoving the book back so hard he knocked two others to the floor. “ _Shit_ , Caleb, you—” but when he turned around Caleb wasn’t nearly as close as he thought, and he wore a smile that looked something approaching smug.

  
“Let me help,” he said, stepping close to pick up the books just as Fjord began to bend down. He straightened up again to give Caleb room, not before catching a strong whiff of camphor—it had been a transcribing day then, Fjord thought, that was the smell of Caleb after having worked with inks for a length of time. And it was sort of funny, too, seeing Caleb pick up things by his feet, in a way that he probably shouldn’t be thinking too much about. Just like he definitely shouldn’t be thinking of how Caleb’s fingers brushed his wrist—innocent, or accidental, he was sure—as he stepped away from the bookshelf and gestured towards the door to his room.

“You want to show me something…in your room?” He tried hard not to sound like he was panicking. Because he wasn’t. Not at all.

“No, I want to show you the door.” That strange look again.

“It’s a nice looking door?” And it sort of was, now that Fjord thought of it. The doors in the Dynasty were strange in that none of them seemed to have knobs—instead, they were boxes and circles that seemed like artwork or sections of wall if you weren’t paying attention. But if you pushed on the right edge, they would fold outwards, breaking apart and expanding like a beetle’s wings before slotting into place on the other side of an empty archway. The door to Caleb’s room looked faintly metallic, with intricate stylized etchings depicting—something, Fjord didn’t know what.

Caleb ducked his head, but Fjord caught the smile. “It’s the same as all the other doors in this house. But not for long—I’m going to do something—a spell, and I want you to tell me what you think of it. I needed some time to prepare since it’s not my usual repertoire. It also helps to have this—it’ll make it stronger.” He drew out a little bag from another of his pockets, and from the greenish glow of the powder he pinched between his fingers, Fjord recognized it for the residuum Nott gave to him, from the apothecary. “This will take a few seconds.”

Caleb tossed the powder in the air, and with a word and a gesture the powder flared with a red-gold light, hung suspended, like gold flakes drifting through water. Caleb curled his fingers among them and they followed his movement, twisting and coalescing together into a branching sigil that spun lazily towards the door, flashed, and vanished.

“It’s done,” Caleb said, the faint light that always seemed to flicker behind his eyes when he was casting a spell dimming for a moment.

“What did you do, exactly?”

“It is a kind of lock—a little like the dome, but not so obvious. You can’t see it, and it may not be much good if someone is prepared with the right spell, like the one on the sword Yasha keeps. But it is good for all else.”

The door looked much the same as before—it was hard to imagine a lock being on it, but then, the wire also vanished when Caleb finished his chanting. Fjord pushed on the door’s edge, stomach dropping when it opened for him easily. “Uh, Caleb…”

“It’s also like the dome in that it lets in the people you want let in.” Caleb stepped in next to him, pushed back on the door gently so it closed with a faint fluttering sound. “This will only be locked for outsiders to our group, and Jester.”

“Jester?”

“If she wants to draw more dicks in my books, I think she should be willing to part with some of her magical paint to do it. I believe she’s already working on a few secret passageways, to get by the alarms.”

“So…you’re making it fun for her.” He couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice when he said it.

Caleb shrugged. “Or for me. But tell me—what do you think?”

“It’s a mighty impressive spell. Useful.”

“So it is something you want for your room as well?”

“I—” That thought hadn’t occurred to him. But it probably should have—of course Caleb would remember that he’d been trying to figure out the locks here, would remember the comment he made earlier. It made a lot more sense than Caleb bringing him to his room, showing him a spell—what? To teach him? Why would he? The tips of Fjord’s fingers itched, and he suppressed the urge to call Summer’s Dance. “That, uh, that enchanting glass of yours is pretty valuable, right?”

“It’s for everyone to use,” Caleb said. Then, more gently, “This spell only uses a little, and it is worth it, to give you peace of mind?”

  
_I’m not sure it is worth it,_ Fjord thought, but that’s not the sort of thing you say aloud, so he said, “I would appreciate it, if you’re willin’ to take the time.”

“I always am.” Caleb brushed past him again as he stalked back to the stairs, and this time Fjord thought maybe it wasn’t an accident.

The door to Fjord’s room was much the same as Caleb’s, save that the etchings were different, showed a different scene. All of the doors in the house together probably told some kind of story, if Fjord could grasp the symbols of any of them, the language inscribed along the edges. He thought he saw a great slitted eye near the frame, and had to look away. It didn’t mean anything. It was just something like how people always saw faces in random patterns—that’s why he’d see eyes on the doors, in the froth of his ale, in crumpled laundry. The knot in the floor that he looked away to. Gods.

“Before we begin, you need to tell me who you want kept out, and who let in,” Caleb said. He wasn’t looking directly at Fjord, which was—unexpectedly soothing. And there was nothing eerie or unsettling Fjord could imagine up by looking at his curls or freckles, so, maybe a safer bet. Sometimes it was nice to be the person watching, instead of the person watched.

A word rumbled in the back of his head, and he clenched his fists.

“What if I—what if I change my mind? About who to let in,” Fjord said. “Would you have to cast the spell again?”

Caleb hesitated. “I could do that. Or I could set the door to unlock with a password, and you can tell who you will—when you will. The trouble with that is that I would need to know the password to cast the spell.” He looked apologetic. He didn’t need to.

“No, I’m—I’m fine with that.” Fjord sucked in a breath. “ _Friend_ is probably too easy of a password, right?”

Caleb nodded. “Ideally, it would be something that wouldn’t usually come up in conversation. And that couldn’t be easily guessed.”

That—didn’t leave him with a lot of options. All the things, places he could think of were easy enough to guess, were as familiar to these people as they were to him. _If not that, they’d just say everything to do with boats and the ocean until they hit something that worked_. They wouldn’t be wrong to. He could reach into his dreams—not there. Into his past—but he didn’t want to go there either. It all left a sour taste in his mouth.

“How ‘bout you come up with the password,” he said.

“Me?”

“Yeah. You speak Zemnian, and no one else ‘round here does so they wouldn’t guess it, so, maybe something in Zemnian? I’m a pretty good mimic, so I would be able to repeat it back to you and remember.”

“All right,” Caleb said, and he was smiling again, the way he sometimes did when he was planning something dangerous. “Let’s put that to the test. Repeat after me: _ich bin ahnungslos gegenüber der liebe anderer_.”

“Something a little shorter?”

“Oh, so there are conditions to my password now.”

“Sure are. Something short, but also…cool. Like those spy novels you read sometimes.”

“That wasn’t primarily a spy novel. Try this, then: _ich bin ahnungslos._ It’s shorter.”

“ _Ich bin ahnungslos. Ich bin ahnungslos_.”

“Your accent is perfect.”

Fjord grinned. “Don’t think I didn’t catch the _ich_ —I **do** know that word, you’re making me say something about myself aren’t you?”

Caleb held up his hands. “Only good things. How strong you are, thoughtful. And the twelve pack. Do you want me to change it again?”

“No, I trust you.”

He watched Caleb weave the spell again—the golden dust, the sigil through the door. He was almost disappointed when it was over and Caleb inclined his head to say good night. It was a relief to know that what they’d spoken about before hadn’t clouded things up between them after all—he felt better, now, in a way. He’d have to see if it survived what came next.

He didn’t want to go to sleep right away. So he called up a minor illusion to his hand, passed his fingers idly through the sparkling illusory fragments, catching on imagined light. How had Caleb moved his hand? Up, around, and a twist? After a minute Fjord cast it again, but the illusion didn’t materialize.


End file.
